La Belle et la Bête
by pink chameleon
Summary: From the time she was eleven years old, the only thing Hermione Granger ever wanted was to graduate from Hogwarts with her Head Girl badge on her robes and Harry and Ron by her side. Confused, Hermione plans to seclude herself at Grimmauld Place


La Belle et la Bête

A/N: I own nothing except my laptop; everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Summary: From the time she was eleven years old, the only thing Hermione Granger ever wanted was to graduate from Hogwarts with her Head Girl badge on her robes and Harry and Ron by her side. Unfortunately, she lost that privileged when Hogwarts lost its Headmaster. Confused, Hermione plans to seclude herself at Grimmauld Place for one final summer of research. However, an unexpected visitor once again changes her plans.

Prologue: Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye

Stepping out of Platform 9 and ¾ into Kings Cross Station proper was like a scene out of a melodrama. Lights flickered, thunder crashed, and not one of the passers-by seemed to notice. Hermione Granger hesitated at the barrier until she felt a hand pushing at the small of her back. Scurrying to get out of the way, Hermione turned to see Ron Weasley emerging from what seemed to be a solid wall. Grabbing her hand, he quickly pulled her toward Platform 10. They lurked there together for several minutes, until Hermione finally turned to Ron and asked

"Where are they?"

"Harry wanted a minute with Ginny before we all left. You know he has to go back to the Dursley's before he comes to Mum and Dad's."

"He doesn't have to Ron," Hermione mumbled.

"Hermione. You know Dumbledore wanted him to. And you know Harry is going to do whatever Dumbledore would have wanted." Ron's voice was gentle; no one liked talking about what Dumbledore would have wanted.

"I hate that none of us will be together this summer."

"Don't tell Harry."

"Not just Harry, Ron. You and I are being separated too," Hermione said, looking at her almost-boyfriend from under heavy eyelashes.

Ron's face softened as it always did when Hermione gave any hint of romantic or tender feeling. With a hand coarse and callused from his broomstick, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it momentarily. "You could have stayed at the Burrow, Mione," he reminded her.

"I know I could have Ron," Hermione said, "But I have the feeling that your mum wants some time with just you kids this summer. Harry will be there soon enough, and then the two of you can come and visit me at Grimmauld."

Ron opened his mouth, as if to protest, but shut it quickly when he saw Harry come through the barrier at Platform 9 and ¾. He leaned casually against the seemingly solid wall and waited until, after a discreet amount of time, Ginny appeared. Taking a moment to find her bearings, the youngest Weasley looked around. When she spotted Harry she simply sent a doleful look in his direction and then hurried off to find her mother. Hermione and Ron, easily deciphered the fifteen-year-old's body language, and began to advance toward Harry.

"Did you fight again?" Hermione asked as she approached Harry's hearing distance. She had learned long ago that when it came to either of her best friends and romance, it was better to be direct. Neither had ever seemed capable of subtlety.

"You might want to lay off these spats, Mate," Ron said, "Ginny can be fierce if you provoke her too many times."

"Yes, and I know. She's trying to talk me out of breaking it off with her," Harry looked anguished, his face reminiscent of its expression upon seeing Ginny with Dean, or Michael, or any other male she wasn't directly related to.

"Nah, Mate, it's good what you did. This way you're free to hunt the you-know-whats with no worries. And besides, now You-Know-Who won't use her to get to you" said Ron, attempting to sound cavalier.

"Ronald," exclaimed Hermione, scandalized, "how many times do I have to explain it to you? Ginny was at risk before she ever started snogging Harry. Your whole family would have been in danger, even if you and Harry had never become friends. I would have been too."

"How do you figure that, Hermione?" asked Harry who had awoken, at least temporarily, from his woes of romance.

"Ron's family has been supporting the Order since before any of us were born. People like the Malfoys think they're blood traitors. They were at risk long before they ever met you, Harry," explained Hermione, in the kind of voice she had once used when teaching Neville the difference between slicing and mauling one's potion's ingredients. "As for me, well I'm muggleborn and I'm smart. Think about it, I consistently come out on top of the class. I've never failed to beat Draco Malfoy in anything except for flying. So Harry, the Death Eaters would have noticed me whether or not you were my friend."

Harry sighed, "I know you're right Hermione. But still, I think I did the right thing"

Clapping him on the back, Ron said, "It'll all work out. By the time you come to the Burrow she'll have gotten over it and she'll be back to making cow eyes at you from across the dinner table."

"Harry, are you sure you don't want us to come with you to the Dursley's? You know you don't have to be alone until the wedding," Hermione said, concern leaking into her voice.

"Nah, Hermione, I'll be alright. I need some time to think about what we have to do this summer. And I know you're itching to dive into the library at Grimmauld anyway," Harry teased.

"Are you sure it's alright that I stay there this summer?" Hermione asked.

"Why wouldn't it be? You'll get more research done there than at the Burrow anyway. And you can-"

"-Boy!" Harry was interrupted by the bark of a large, purple-faced man who had suddenly appeared at Ron's elbow. "Aren't you ready yet? Did you know I've been waiting for you for five minutes?"

"Sorry Uncle Vernon," Harry muttered as he ran his hand through his mussed hair. As the despicable muggle began to walk away, Harry leaned in to talk with Ron and Hermione closely. "Look, Hermione, look through every book in Grimmauld and find any reference you can to soul fragments and destroying them. Ron, mate, I want you to talk to your dad and find out about the underage magic degree. We're going to need our wands this summer and we don't need the Ministry getting in the way. Also, you and I need our apparate licenses or we'll waste time puttering about England on broom sticks. Now look, I've got to go. Don't worry if you don't hear from me much, looks like the Dursleys are in fine form this year. I'll see you for the wedding in two weeks, I promise." With that, Harry turned and followed in the path left for him by his uncle.

Ron and Hermione watched him go, weaving his way through the oblivious crowds of muggles who pressed into Kings Cross, searching for the ticket counter or a particular platform. "I should go too," said Hermione, spotting her father's balding head in the distance, "I've got to go home with mum and dad for today, but by tomorrow I should be moved into Grimmauld."

"Don't try to release Dobby the second you get there, Hermione," said Ron in a taunting voice. Before leaving Hogwarts, Harry had crept to the kitchens and hired his favorite house-elf. After the chaos of Bill's wedding died down, the Order planned to once again begin using Grimmauld place as a headquarters. With at least one permanent resident (Hermione), and the traffic of Order members, Harry thought it essential to bring some kind of semblance of organization to the house.

"I won't Ron. Look, owl me as much as you can. Floo if you need to. Tell your mum I'll apparate to the Burrow the day of the wedding," Hermione leaned forward and quickly pecked Ron's cheek. As she turned to leave, she called over her shoulder, "And keep people away from Grimmauld. I'm going to be reading about, well, them. I don't want someone walking in on that particular study session."

Ron sighed and nodded. He waited until Hermione had vanished into the throng of muggles before turning himself and making his way toward where his mother and sister were waiting impatiently.

After wrestling her school trunk out of the boot of her parents' car (she didn't like to use her wand around them, it made them nervous), Hermione silently helped her father to hoist the massive luggage to her girlhood bedroom. Smiling, Hermione subtlety pushed her father out of the room, even as he reminded her that they were to go out for tea at five. Finally alone, Hermione shut the door and turned to face her room. Hermione had never been fond of pink, even as a girl in muggle primary school she tended to eschew "girly" behavior at all costs. Her parents had therefore had the room painted a cheery yellow. The wall above her desk was home to some meticulously crafted collages of famous scientists, maps, and fine art pieces. The desk itself sported a small basket with a collection of geriatric dental flosses and tooth brushes that her parents brought home from their practice. The dresser across from the desk contained a sparse collection of muggle jeans and sweaters that she had left behind because they no longer fit her. Knowing that her mother would not have been able to get rid of the discarded articles herself, Hermione didn't bother trying to put her newer clothing or her robes into her dresser or closet.

Hermione collapsed on her bed. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and reached out her arm as she had each night of her childhood. Because her bookshelf was within an easy reach of her bed, her parents had always had her choose her bedtime story in this rather haphazard manner. Hermione's fingers closed around a thin volume and pulled it from its long undisturbed resting place. It was The Little Prince, an old favorite always carefully placed near the edge of the bookshelf in order to ensure that it would be picked more frequently than the more unpopular stories. Although motivated to reunite with this old friend before tea, Hermione lost interest as the unearthly monarch demanded a sheep.

Children's literature was an inadequate distraction. Hermione was feeling useless; she was wasting time on a fantastical book when she could have been cracking the mystery of Voldemort's horcruxes. Her eyes wandered back to her unpacked trunk. Within the recesses of her school robes and text books, she knew she had hidden a small bag of floo powder. It was tempting to find the bag and use it, disappearing from her childhood home without a word to her parents. She sat up abruptly in her bed, trying to remember which robe had been wrapped around the precious sack. A moment later, the young witch seemed to deflate. Try though she might, Hermione still had trouble with rebellion. Leaving her parents without even a goodbye gave her the same sinking feeling in her gut that came when she thought about not returning to Hogwarts in September. It was wrong. It went against the grain. Missing her seventh year of schooling was one thing; that opportunity was an unavoidable casualty of the war. Leaving her parents, that was something else entirely. Although her work was important, it was not yet urgent. To leave for Grimmauld without saying goodbye would be an unnecessary act of cruelty, perpetrated by an impetuous teenager on her naïve and doting parents.

Yes, tomorrow was an abrupt enough departure. Perhaps her feelings of uselessness would be staved off by an impromptu, but much needed, strategy session. After Dumbledore's death, every Order member had been reluctant to plan for a leader-less future. Hermione, however, refused to allow grief to cripple the light's chances in the imminent war. The first question, of course, was what to do about Professor Snape. She had viewed Harry's memory of the night in the Astronomy Tower through a pensieve and heard his account of Dumbledore's final battle. In spite of the evidence she could not, she would not, reconcile Severus Snape, spy and professor, with Severus Snape, Death Eater and murderer.

After the funeral, there had been a lot of talk about misplaced trust. For years, the Order had trusted Snape on Dumbledore's word. An enormous, collective volte-face convinced the entire Order that their fearless leader had been deceived by an oily Slytherin. Hermione believed that she was the only person in Britain who still trusted her potions professor.

Logically, it made no sense. If Snape had been truly loyal to the dark side he would have delivered Harry to Voldemort immediately after his rebirth. There would have been no fall-out from this decision: ensuring Harry's death would bring the war to a halt as the prophecy was fulfilled. Even if Snape had been playing both of his masters off of one another (with the hope to survive the war no matter who emerged the victor), his actions were still unclear. Why would he betray this manufactured safety by losing fifty percent of his allies with one action, especially an action that could not guarantee the end of the war?

There were still more questions. Why had Dumbledore, silent for five years, chosen this year to teach Harry everything he could about Voldemort and his plans for immortality? Hermione would have thought that Dumbledore would have preferred that Harry search for the horcruxes as a fully qualified wizard, not as a sixteen-year-old who hadn't even taken his NEWTs. The Headmaster had left her best friend in the dark for five years; Harry's knowledge of the prophecy could have been left to stew for another year. Why would Dumbledore pass his knowledge down to Harry this year?

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

Promptly at five o'clock, Hermione had left her room and met her parents in the front hall as they gathered their things. The threesome left the house and began to walk toward their favorite pub. Hermione only half listened to the cheerful chatter about her parents' dental practice and the antics of particular practice. Even as she nodded and smiled, laughing at her parents' jokes, she was mentally rehearsing her good-bye speech. Hermione had told her parents very little about wizarding politics. They knew a little about the difficulties between muggleborn witches and wizards and their pureblood counterparts, mainly as a result of the tearful letters she had written during her first year about Draco Malfoy. They also knew that the parents of one of her friends had been killed by the leader of a terrorist organization, but that he had escaped unscathed. They knew nothing about Voldemort's rebirth, nothing about the battle at the Ministry of Magic, and nothing about Dumbledore's death.

In good conscience, Hermione refused to deceive her parents any longer. Every day brought her deeper and deeper into the war. She knew that, after tonight, she would never again sleep in her childhood bedroom. She would not return until the war was over; she had to protect her home. The muggle parents of Hogwarts' smartest witch were targets in the war against the Light. Hermione knew that any attack on her parents, or Ron's for that matter, would be an effective way for Voldemort to draw Harry out of hiding. Therefore, she could not afford to bring any attention whatsoever to this neighborhood. Any magical signature could be detected and traced.

So Hermione would leave. But she wouldn't let her parents stay behind completely unprotected. With Harry's permission, Hermione had spent her last few days in Hogwarts buried in the library, researching portkeys. She carried the products of her work in her pocket now, two seemingly ordinary amulets that when used with a certain password would transport the wearer to Grimmauld place.

Reaching the pub, Hermione and her parents quickly made their way to their usual table. The Grangers leaned back in their seats and smiled proudly at their only daughter, waiting to hear about her school girl adventures and achievements. "Well Mione, love, tell us about school. Do you still like being a prefect?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Sure, Mum, I love it. Look, I've got to talk to the two of you about something serious," Hermione said, dropping her voice (she didn't dare to use a silencing charm in this crowded, muggle pub).

"Of course darling," her father said, "Did something happen at school?"

"Sort of. Actually yes. Mum, Dad, I've been keeping certain things from you for the past few years. It wouldn't have possibly helped you to know at the time, but now I've decided that you've got to hear everything. Okay?" Hermione asked, her voice rising in pitch a little. When her parents looked confused, but nodded, she proceeded. Quickly and quietly, Hermione summarized the first six years of her magical education. As she proceeded, her mother's face became whiter and whiter. When Hermione briefly told her parents that the Headmaster had been murdered by the terrorists that had killed Harry's parents, her mother reached out and grabbed her hand, visibly shaking.

When Hermione had finished her story, her parents sat in stunned silence for a moment. Finally, her father took a gulp of the lager in front of him. Speaking slowly, he said, "Well that's it, then. You can't go back to those people, Hermione. It's just not safe. I won't have my daughter fighting a war she had no part in starting!"

"Dad, don't you see," Hermione pleaded, "They need me. Harry needs me. Ron needs me. I've got to go back."

"No, love, you don't," said her mother, "You're just a girl. Surely they have enough people to fight their own wars."

"Mum, I'm a target whether I'm here or there. If I leave and leave soon, you and Dad will be safer. They aren't looking for you, but they won't hesitate to hurt you if they find out that you're important to me."

"Why are you so important?" Mr. Granger demanded in a thick voice. "What have you done to make them notice you?"

"Harry Potter is my best friend. What hurts me will hurt him. It's better for all of us if I stay away this summer. Besides, I've got loads to do" Hermione said, trying to sound cheerful at the sound of homework.

"Did that school of yours give you summer work after the death of your Headmaster? That's preposterous!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed, drying her tears on the paper napkin in her lap.

"It's not school work that I've got to do, it's something else entirely. But still, it's got to be done. We have tonight and tomorrow morning, and then I've really got to leave," Hermione said, "I'm sorry."

For a moment, all three Grangers were silent. Hermione stared at her plate as her parents exchanged a long, solemn look.

"All right, love," Mrs. Granger said, taking Hermione's hand again, "all right."


End file.
